Get A Knife
by Yahong
Summary: It's Carter's birthday. The gang throws a party; Reese shows up a bit early, of course.
1. House Party

It was unfortunately not the first time Detective Joss Carter had walked into her living room to find a dog she didn't own on the couch.

She stopped in her tracks and stilled, listening for hostile activity around her—force of habit. Unnecessary, since by now Bear could only mean one thing: John.

Joss relaxed her hands and glanced about, thinking. Then she headed toward the kitchen. John was probably amusing himself there. God knew why he didn't flex his rusty domestic muscles at his own place, wherever that was.

Bear had leaped almost noiselessly off the sofa and was now keeping pace with her. As she rounded the corner and came to a stop, he trotted ahead, perfecting the scene that unfurled in front of her.

At her kitchen table sat John. In front of John, on the table, sat a cake. At John's feet sat Bear, tongue dangling in a grin.

She took one look, lifted a hand and turned away. "This is not happening. You are not sitting in my kitchen with a birthday cake."

"Happy birthday, Carter," he said. It was his best soft, buttery, I-like-you-do-you-like-me? tone.

"John." She wheeled back around and fixed him with a stare. "Remember when we talked about boundaries?"

He tilted one shoulder up slightly. "I remember you mentioning them."

"Well, boundaries mean you don't show up unannounced to my house with a cake for this… househusband act of yours whenever you feel like it."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He lowered his shoulder. "Next time I'll ask Shaw to bring my grenade launcher. That doesn't qualify under 'househusband', does it?"

"There is gonna be no next time," Joss said firmly. Since he didn't look like he was about to get up any time soon, she strode forward and took hold of the cake. Gingerly she slid the plate off the table and carried it over to the counter, muttering, "What am I going to do with a sixteen-inch cake…"

"Eat it?" When she turned back around, John was holding up a fork.

Her fork? "Yeah, you go right ahead." She walked over to her open cutlery drawer and nudged it shut. "Just not in my house."

"You got a ban on cake, Detective?" He spun the fork between his fingers. "And it's your birthday, after all."

She squinted at him, then shook her head. "I honestly have no idea what goes through your head when you spring this kind of thing."

"I was just thinking of you," he said innocently. "Wanted to see how you were." Likely story. "How is the new guy? Austin, right?"

"Austin's fine—" She paused, then narrowed her eyes again. "Do I wanna know how you know about him?"

He met her gaze and quirked a corner of his mouth.

Joss looked to the ceiling. "Didn't think so."

"I'm happy you decided to start dating outside your work pool, but…" He considered the gleaming metal of the fork as he spun it. "Austin Smith, accountant. A little boring, don't you think?"

"Not looking for or interested in your judgement." Joss swept the flyers he'd evidently brought in with him into the recycling and grabbed her car keys from their hook. "You can let yourself out the way you broke in. Take your cake with you. And your dog."

Bear, who'd been watching her steadfastly, let out a short whine.

John stopped the fork's spinning and rose from his chair. "When will you be back?"

"When you're not here anymore," she said, giving him another pointed look.

His mouth tipped downward in half a pout. "You should try some of the cake before you go," he coaxed. "Start your date off on a sweet note."

It was hard to keep being annoyed with him. When she lost that battle, she always fell back into exasperated fondness. "How about you take it back to your secret base and share it with Harold and Shaw, all right? In my honour."

John approached the counter and pulled the cake toward him. He looked down at it, then looked up through his lashes at her. "All right."

Joss examined his expression suspiciously, but there was no time to make sure he followed through. She was supposed to pick up Austin in ten minutes at his place, and John wasn't a good enough excuse to be late.

"Don't be here when I get back," she said, pointing her car keys at him, and left.

* * *

A disappointing two hours later, all her lights were on when she pulled up to her house.

Joss considered just backing up and driving away, letting John wait all night and going… where? No way she was hiding out with Paul. (Besides, he had Taylor for the weekend and she wasn't about to explain to her son why she wasn't sleeping in her own home.) And going back to the precinct after hours seemed a little too pathetic, especially given the day.

She really should've taken up her girlfriends' offer to celebrate with drinks, instead of taking Austin out for another test date. Nothing wrong with a good ol' cop bar once in a while.

Her front door opened before she could decide. In the light stood a small shadow that most definitely was not the silhouette of a former assassin.

Never mind, it was the silhouette of a former assassin. Just not the one she'd been expecting.

Shaw walked down the steps, head turned in Joss's direction. Even though it was dark, Joss was pretty sure Shaw could see exactly where she sat.

In a few quick steps, Shaw was right beside her window. She knocked and spoke through the glass: "Hey Carter. You should come in. We've got booze."

With a sigh, Joss cracked open her door. "As good as that seems," she said, less irritated than she sounded because she had a soft spot for Shaw, "I'm not really in the partying mood. Sorry."

"Are you in the mood to look at firearms?" Shaw stepped back, reached behind her and pulled a gun from seemingly nowhere—the back of her dress, probably. She tilted it into the damp yellow of a streetlight for Joss to see, a smile sneaking its way on to her face.

Despite herself, Joss opened the car door and stepped out. "That's your Beretta Nano, isn't it?"

Willingly Shaw handed it to her. "I've been meaning to bring it over to show you."

"You added night sights?" Joss took it carefully and examined it.

"Three-dot is so civilian." Shaw grinned and began to walk back toward the house.

"And we are definitely not civilian," Joss said to herself, following Shaw.

But even ambiguous assassin superheroes apparently liked to throw parties. The instant Joss stepped over her threshold, Bear barrelled over to welcome her with a bouquet of crepe party streamers wrapped around him.

"Down," Shaw said, crouching to untangle him. "Sorry about the mess," she said over her shoulder. "I didn't make it."

"…Yeah." Joss looked around, dread and amusement conflicting in her. It took her a few blinks to recognize her place. Streamers hung five layers thick over every railing in sight; a disco ball was propped against her coat rack; and all the lampshades were covered in wrapping paper.

She turned a full one-eighty degrees, then looked to Shaw. "How did you guys do this in two hours?"

"Oh, I just brought the booze," Shaw said brightly. "Speaking of which, it's this way." She led Joss and Bear past the living room and into the kitchen.

There, they found Harold and John engaged in some kind of orchestration requiring candles, icing and timing. Just as Harold said, "No, you've got to wait for my signal," John caught sight of them.

He dropped his icing tube and moved toward Joss. "Carter," he said. "Back so soon?"

"Not late enough, considering you're still here," she tossed back, raising her eyebrows. "Why is that travesty of a cake still in my house?"

"Detective Carter." Harold pivoted, looking dressy in a bow-tie, and bestowed a small smile on her. "Many happy returns. I apologize for our sudden invasion—I assure you it was well-intentioned, before it…" His gaze flickered around, landing on the wrapped lamp shades. "Got out of hand."

She managed a semi-smile in return. "You know what, I can believe that."

"I brought Shaw and her Nano," John said, bringing her attention back to him. "That balances out the cake, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, nice try." She side-stepped around him and went for the bottles of wine that Shaw held in both fists.

"You know," Shaw said to John as she readily handed Joss a bottle, "you really shouldn't have ruined the surprise by showing up with the cake before Carter left."

John leaned against the table, ignoring Harold's attempts to hand him the icing tube. "I just wanted to wish her luck on her date." He shrugged.

Joss rolled her eyes, then tipped the bottle back.

"Yeah, how did that go?" Shaw glanced over at her.

Joss swallowed and tilted her head to the side. "As you might expect."

Shaw considered her, then narrowed her eyes. "You didn't even tell him it was your birthday, did you?"

"I—" Okay, Joss had no idea how Shaw made her deductions. "What does it matter?" she muttered, and took another swallow.

"You didn't tell the accountant it was your birthday?" John eased off the table and moved closer. "Carter, I'm surprised. You, less than forthcoming?"

Shaw ignored him. "Your lipstick isn't smudged," she explained to Joss. "Men get so overtly affectionate over dates. Would've expected your date to lay one on you."

Which was why Joss hadn't told Austin. They weren't too serious yet; she wasn't sure she was ready for it to be serious, anyway. John's boring comment had stuck with her, as clichéd as it was. Cal had been… very not-boring.

She was pulled out of a potential sad spiral when John's slow steps brought him into her space. "That's fine," he said to her, "just means you've got more time to spend with us."

In response, she made eye contact with him, then motioned pointedly in the direction of the front door with the wine. He caught her hand in his, gaze serious, and slipped the bottle out of her grip.

"Detective, if I may be so bold." Harold stepped back and motioned for her to approach. "I know you have very discerning taste in sweets, so this cake is from the bakery you've frequented the most during your time in New York City. Although Ms. Groves couldn't be here, she analyzed your purchases over the past ten years and ordered a cake which she believes is algorithmically calculated to best suit your tastes."

She couldn't help reluctantly smiling at that. "Algorithmically calculated, huh? Somehow, I'm not even creeped out by that." She looked down and considered the message in icing: Happy birthday dear Detective Carter. "Aw. Thank you, really," she said, and looked up at Harold. "I appreciate it."

He gave a half-smile, half-wince that was appropriately half-pleased and half-embarrassed. "Most of this was Mr. Reese's doing," he said, motioning to her current décor.

"Right." She nodded and looked around, taking in its wildly colourful state once more, her teeth slowly gritting behind her smile.

"Hey." Shaw sat down at the table, wine bottle still firmly in her hand; Bear sat down on her feet. "Like I said. Overtly affectionate about dates." She toasted Joss, then tossed back another swallow.

Shaw's words sunk in, followed by the realization of whom Shaw was referring to. Eyebrows raised, Joss turned to look over her shoulder at John.

He hovered at the counter, eyes hopeful, appeasing.

She sighed. Then she turned back to the cake. "All right. Get a knife. Let's cut this cake."

"Got one."

Joss looked to Shaw. Shaw held up a bayonet.

They were all silent for a moment.

"Perhaps," Harold said, "we could start with a kitchen knife."

"Good idea," Joss said.

Shaw shrugged. "Your loss."


	2. Can't Stop Won't Stop

"Damn it, Carter, why didn't you tell me it was your birthday yesterday?"

Joss looked up to see an irritated Lionel Fusco puff his way to his desk. "Good morning to you too, Fusco."

"Yeah, good morning and all that jazz," he said, sitting down with a frown on his face. "I thought we were partners."

"We are." Joss motioned to their touching desks.

"How come I had to hear about that shindig at your place secondhand then, huh? Through that wack ex-NSA or whatever, no less?"

That made her look up. "You and Shaw keeping in touch now?"

Fusco scrunched up his face. "Yeah, sure. If you call getting a text blackmailing me to take her leftover cake and feed it to my son 'keeping in touch'. Which I don't, by the way."

Ah, right. She'd refused to keep the half of cake they hadn't managed to eat at her place, and Reese had somehow pressed Shaw into taking it. Wherever her home was. Something that had struck Joss—when she had suggested handing some cake off to the person they liked to call 'Root', Shaw's face had done some interesting things. Maybe it'd been all the wine.

"…next thing I know she's telling me all about Lee's eating habits and healthy metabolism rates for a boy his age and devil knows what else. I told her, 'You better get Glasses to stop monitoring my boy or I'm not helping you guys ever again', and she said—"

"Fusco," Joss interrupted, "sorry. You're right."

He paused, mouth partially open.

"I should've let you know." She pressed her lips together and gave a nod of acknowledgement.

Fusco closed his mouth. Then he opened it and said, "Mine's December 16th."

Joss felt a more genuine smile touch her lips. "All right. I won't forget."

* * *

"Here."

Leon Tao plopped a small duffel bag on to Joss's desk. He clasped his hands, then rubbed them together.

She raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"A belated birthday present. Reese made me aware that yours was yesterday, so…" Leon chuckled nervously.

"When you say Reese 'made you aware'…" Joss lifted the other brow.

He rocked back and forth on his heels, once. "Yeah, okay, he forcibly suggested that I get you something. For the times you've covered up my—very slight!—brushes with the law."

God. John was making other people give her presents now? Shaking her head, Joss zipped open the bag and peered inside.

Benjamin Franklins stared back at her.

"Money?" Joss instinctively lowered her voice. "You got me cash?"

"Hey, everyone likes money, right?" Leon said. "I wasn't sure what else to give. None of it's stolen or laundered from any Russians, I swear. Well—most of it isn't."

"What?" she asked, volume rising again.

"Never mind—can you just tell Reese to get off my case about the Bear-noodles incident now? I consider my debt repaid. In full. With interest, even!" He nodded emphatically.

Joss regarded him. Then she looked back at the large amount of US dollars sitting on the desk. "…Sure, I can pass a message along."

"Thank you. Seriously, they left me and that mutt alone in a library full of instant noodles and hot pockets! What were they expecting?"

She didn't think she wanted to answer that. "I have," said Joss, "a lot of work to get through."

"Ah." Leon snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Holding up the institutional side of our secret operation, right?"

She feigned a smile. "Some advice: next time John tells you to do something, just say no, okay?"

He lowered his hand. "Is that what you do?" he asked.

Well. There wasn't anything non-hypocritical she could say to that, was there.


	3. Gifts Gifts Threats Gifts

On her way to pick up lunch at the food truck Fusco liked—a peace offering for keeping him out of the loop—Joss found herself being followed.

She sidestepped a garbage can and abruptly came to a stop behind it. A beat late, so did her tail.

Their eyes met. Joss half-smiled despite herself, and moved out from behind the garbage can.

"Ms. Morgan. Nice to see you." She gestured with a hand. "Feel free to walk beside me instead of skulking all the way."

Zoe Morgan smiled graciously in return and fell into step with her. "You'll have to forgive me," she said unapologetically, "I needed to make sure you weren't with certain other members of the police."

"Some officers you don't want to run into?"

"Some officers who don't want to run into me," Zoe said, smiling still more widely. "Anyway. Happy belated birthday, Detective." She pulled a small, neatly-wrapped package out of her tote and tucked it into Joss's hand.

Instinctively Joss turned her palm up to grip the object. "Oh—that's not necessary..." God, she hoped this wasn't another present pressured by a certain wanted man.

"Consider it a favour from me," Zoe replied, as though she'd read her mind. "Take it. Whenever you need, just call me up and cash it in."

"All right—well—thank you." Joss slid the package into her inner jacket pocket. She looked back up and around, got her bearings and realized they'd gone straight past Fusco's food truck. "Damn." She stopped and pivoted.

Zoe didn't follow. "Well, I'll be off," she said. "Keep in touch, all right?"

"Sure. Thanks again for the—favour."

"You're very welcome." With a final nod and smile, Zoe rounded the corner and was out of sight.

Joss hurried back to the food truck and got into line. Absent-mindedly, she felt the outline of the package in her jacket. Hopefully this 'favour' was at least slightly legal.

* * *

 _Dear Detective_ (read the note attached to the small pink taser) _,_

 _Yours to borrow, if you'll help me brush up on my gunmanship. At your convenience, of course. Feel free to call in your favour whenever._

 _Z. Morgan_

* * *

A bouquet of flowers awaited her at her desk.

A sense of panicked creeping déjà vu slid over her; she moved swiftly to pick out the card, reassure herself it wasn't from—

But it was.

And the two of them were in completely different situations now, she reminded herself.

So, she supposed, when the card attached read _Many happy returns for your birthday. I promise this isn't meant to be a death threat this time. -Elias_ , she ought to believe the sentiment.

Joss shoved the bouquet underneath her desk and sat down. She willed her heartrate to slow. The real issue here was: how had Elias placed an order to a florist from the basement of an off-the-grid water treatment plant?

That would gnaw at her for a while.

* * *

John had just returned from delivering their latest number into the safety of Fusco's reluctant-yet-capable hands when one of the feeds on Harold's monitors caught his attention.

It had switched to the precinct feed they'd gotten Fusco to set up to observe Joss's desk, and right now it showed her in a bent position, head under her desk. John paused, brow furrowed, in front of the screen and watched her emerge, glancing about, and lift up a floral bouquet. She ripped off the tag without looking at it and slid it deep into the nearest file folder, then strode off-camera.

John was pretty sure he didn't like the looks of that.

He waited until she re-appeared and settled back down before he turned away and went to Harold's side.

"Can you get a look at the tag that was on those flowers Carter just tossed?" he asked.

"The tag on the flowers...?" Harold looked at him, then flipped over to the feed at the precinct and rewound. "Oh. Yes, I probably can, but..." He glanced up at him again, frowning. "Why?"

John just looked back at him expectantly.

"Never mind. I'll run it through an image enhancer." Harold looked back to his screen, muttering something like "I should know by now" under his breath, and pulled up the software.

As he waited, John ran through the possible outcomes and consequences. If the bouquet was from a civilian admirer, it would be easy enough to research and ascertain the potential risk they posed to Joss. If it was from Austin Smith, he might take a walk down Clarkson Street and check whether those flowers had ended up in Joss's backseat or the garbage. Just check, of course. If it was-

The software pinged its completion, and he bent down to read the sharpened screenshot. I promise this isn't a...

"'A death thr'—oh dear," said Harold.

"'This time. Elias'," John said slowly. That meant that Elias had previously sent Joss death threats via flower bouquet.

He straightened.

"Well, I suppose the intention is somewhat honourable," Harold said, pursing his lips.

Without replying, John turned and headed for his hidden cache of weapons. Time to go out.

Just before he hit the stairs, Shaw appeared, a heavily-drooling Bear following her.

"Hold up," she said, strapping a pistol to her belt as she walked. "I'm coming with."

John barely paused. "You don't know where I'm going." Then the smell of Bear's breath hit him, and he did pause. "What have you been feeding Bear?"

Shaw shrugged on her coat and responded, "Turns out he likes his sandwiches just as hot as I do."

Good God. John briefly looked to the ceiling. "You'll give him indigestion."

"That's what they all say." She bent and rubbed Bear's chin, then pointed an arm toward the computer room. "Go find Harold, boy."

As they watched Bear trot off, John said, "You could at least give him some warning for when Bear starts vomiting."

Shaw smirked. "Let's go find Elias."

"You're not com-" He squinted at her.

Her eyebrows raised, she said, "You don't think I have this whole place bugged by now?"

All right. That wasn't the issue right now. "You're not coming."

"Sure I am. Carter's not just your friend."

"I thought you didn't have friends."

Shaw started up the stairs. "Look who's talking."

"I have friends. I'm a nice guy." John followed on her heels. "You don't even know where Elias is."

"Well, I'm real nice with a gun, so it works out." She gave him a speaking look over her shoulder. "You can take point."

And because their intentions and end goals were the same, John led the way.

* * *

The next time Joss visited Elias, he had something to say.

"I received a visit recently, Detective," he started off casually, "from a mutual friend of ours."

"Is that so." Joss was walking the length of the room, trying to figure out new ways he might manage to break out.

"Yes. He impressed upon me the... faux pas I committed in sending you flowers for your birthday." Elias steepled his fingers on the bare table at which he sat, eyes following her. "I apologize. I hope you know it was well-intentioned."

Joss halted and looked around. "Yeah," she said, "I'd say sending a happy birthday that looks like a death threat is a 'faux pas'."

Elias inclined his head. "It won't happen again."

"Which mutual acquaintance would this be?" She resumed her pacing around the room.

"Oh, I think you know which one," he replied pleasantly. "I guess this means you're moving me again, does it?"

Joss turned the corner, and Elias's right hand man caught her eye, standing by the door as he always did. Was she seeing things, or was he gingerly shifting his weight, ever so slightly, from foot to foot? "Don't tell me he managed to get one over on you," she said to him.

The scarred man gave a tight smile. "He had back-up," he said succinctly.

"Back-up." There was no way Finch had been the back-up. So that left...

"It seems your team has grown," Elias said, drawing her attention back to him. "I wish you'd at least have the courtesy to keep me up-to-date."

"Didn't think you needed me to keep you up-to-date," she shot back.

"It's always nice to be warned when your captor has small sociopathic women willing to kill for her."

Elias's man cracked his neck in agreement.

Joss kept walking, considering the situation. Damn, maybe she did have to move Elias again.

"Of course," he continued, "once we managed to convey that we all stood on common ground, the misunderstandings were cleared, weren't they, Anthony?"

"Common ground." She resisted the urge to snort. "What common ground is that?"

Elias waited until she turned and faced him. Then he smiled.

"Detective," he said, "we all just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."


End file.
